


Appearances can be deceiving

by Graylines



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: And other coming of age garbage, Comedy, Coming of Age, Dealing with childhood shit, F/M, First Impressions, First impressions are garbage, Friendship, I feel like saying don't judge a book by it's cover may be a little cheesy when talking about Maka, Living Together, Meisters, Partnership, Roommates, Teenage Dorks, Teenage Rebellion, Weapons, finding yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29687733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graylines/pseuds/Graylines
Summary: She was proper and polite and spoke to her teachers with deference. She wore a similar button-down and skirt ensembles every day. Supposedly dressed professionally for class. It irked him. He'd traveled almost across the country to get away from this kind of crap and yet somehow he'd landed himself in exactly the same situation he'd run from. This had to be some form of self-sabotage.
Relationships: Black Star & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Kudos: 20





	Appearances can be deceiving

**Author's Note:**

> *important notes* this story is an experiment. I want to play with sensory a lot more in this fic. Sight sound and texture especially. It it going to be a lot of setting and description but I also want to explore Soul's experience moving away from home and rebelling and coming into his own as a person. And of course his first impressions of Maka being very proper and well behaved being turned on it's head early in their partnership, much like our impressions on their characters as a fandom changed when we got to know them. This chapter is to introduce the conflict and Soul's first turn in his transformation but character interactions will come next chapter. I also wanted to use this as and opportunity to explore the culture and fashion of death city since the fashion zine was mailed out a month or so ago. And of course I want this fic to re-ground me in this fandom since my hiatus. The slow renaissance this fandom has had is amazing and I'm excited to see it come back.
> 
> So I guess I'm back!

Moving from New England to the desert wasteland of Death city was a culture shock. 

To go from the cool and humid coastal towns full of current styles and English architecture to the incredibly stylized morbid and cartoonish death city streets where every single person was dressed like something out of a comic book or some intricate NYC graffiti was incredible. The people of Death city lived their lives like fantastical fictional characters, with crazy dyed hair and super hero persona names popularized after weapons and meisters began using them for work. They walked with style; talked with accents and catchphrases. It was a true melting pot of cultures from across the world and it seemed to snatch at the brightest and flashiest of traditions it could grasp.

And it was saturated with a culture of it's own. One of death cast in a light that was not intimidating. The citizens of the city greatest the thought of death like an old acquaintance. One they'd grown as fond of as the death God that lordes over them.

At first, Soul knew he'd screwed up. Done exactly what his parents expected of him. Got distracted by a pair of pretty green eyes and found himself stuck in a partnership with the most basic girl in the city. Maka Albarn was, to put it lightly, boring. 

Half Asian and leaning hard into that school girl aesthetic. If it wasn't for the combat boots in place of Mary Janes he would have thought she was new to town. He hadn't even moved in with her yet and all they'd done in the last week of their "partnership" was fill out paperwork, register for classes and start awkward small talk. Basically set down ground rules. 

She was proper and polite and spoke to her teachers with deference. She wore a similar button-down and skirt ensembles every day. Supposedly dressed professionally for class. It irked him. He'd traveled almost across the country to get away from this kind of crap and yet somehow he'd landed himself in exactly the same scenario he'd run from. This had to be some form of self-sabotage.

The first sign of another scythe meister and he'd bolt. But until then he wasn't going to ruin his chances as an eat class student. He would be a death scythe even if he had to put up with prim and proper for a few months to do it. 

For now, he had to content himself with completely reinventing himself. Death city's morbid aesthetic was really intriguing. He'd always been a bit of a dark soul. But he wasn't exactly looking to go full black leather goth either. For one it was a lot of a commitment to makeup and accessories that he didn't know anything about and for another, it wouldn't exactly help him stand out in the gothic city. Soul wanted to be cool and looking like a noob wouldn't help.

He settled for something between a Japanese pop and alternative style. Something flashy and eye-catching yet casual and laid back. And centered around his new favorite color, yellow; New beginning, and a sense of euphoria. 

He dressed the walls of his new room in posters and cards. Bands and dancers and tv shows he liked. His brand new bed set, courtesy of Maka's dad, matched his yellow Look. 

And he was determined to make this different than back home. 

Maka had secured a corner of the living room for her second bookcase. It was covered from top to bottom in books organized by subject then sub-organized alphabetically. With such gripping titles as 'A Complete Index of Desert Herbs and Their Uses', and 'Demonologists, Necromancers and other dark sects of witchcraft'.

He had fashioned himself a milk crate rack, four mill crates stacked with their open sides forward and zip-tied together, to store his thrifted vinyl collection. A few titles he'd knicked from home before leaving, well-used favorites, but the rest he picked up for a dollar here and there in death city's heavily saturated market. Death city was known for art and fashion and coffee. It had a rich vibrant history and music always followed that closely. But overall it was a city known for reaping and that kept the tightwad pretentious types away. To Soul, it smelled like paradise. 

He took his first paycheck as an official Eat class weapon and spent it on clothes. Maka had agreed, all be it begrudgingly, that since her father covered rent and she made enough to cover utilities that she could handle the bills for the first couple weeks while he got settled in the city. Since he hadn't arrived with much. On the condition that he demonstrated ethical spending habits and didn't blow his money on stupid expensive garbage. 

He didn't exactly know where she got off telling him how he could spend his money but since he'd be eating on her dime for a few weeks he kept the comment to himself. After all, Maka didn't nitpick what he did the way he expected. As long as he wasn't affecting her grades she didn't bother him. And Soul was surprised. No not surprised, he was freed.

So He took his first lump of change and decided to walk Death City's fashion district. It started low on the hill with dingy alt shops on polished cement floors. He picked up several pairs of skinny jeans in a discount crate. Each a different color and style. A couple worn black pairs with rips and chains, and a bright cherry red pair that reminded him of Maka's collection of skirts. 

Plain shirts are in plethora in just about every shop he picked up a few packs in his size, white, yellow, red, black, and blue would go with any outfit. And as much as he meant to steer clear of accessories there were academy patches on sale at every other shop in town, ultimately he caved and picked up a couple with a plain white headband to iron them onto. 

That's when he saw it. Standing proud on the manikin in the window of a sportswear outlet. A gaudy black and yellow basketball jacket. It was bright and loud. It looked like something Wes would never wear. His mother would say it was ugly, garish. And Soul loved it. The statement piece to his rebellion wardrobe. It was a little more expensive than the rest of his second-hand haul but he couldn't leave without it.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is tagged SoMa because I really ship it and I'm not sure how to write a fix that doesn't have a romantic chemistry between them but being very early in their partnership their relationship is gonna be a lot more antagonistic at first and then very platonic even through mild prepubescent crushing.


End file.
